


Time and Tide

by shadeshifter



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-10
Updated: 2012-03-27
Packaged: 2017-10-11 22:22:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/117740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadeshifter/pseuds/shadeshifter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An entire civilisation at war and they didn't do anything about the kids? At least one was sent away. Nascent!Timelord!Vin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Legacy

**Author's Note:**

> At least half the plot is shamelessly cribbed from Superman.

Vin has a pocket watch.

It was pressed into his hands at the age of five by a terrified woman with large brown eyes. She smoothed down his hair and patted his shoulder with a shaking hand and then sent him off. He never saw her again.

When he thinks of it now an unaccountable loss grips him tight and makes it difficult to breathe. He grips the watch tight in his hand and imagines for a moment that he is staring up at an orange sky.

He dreams of silver trees and domed cities and of running in red fields. He dreams of easy knowledge and of thoughts connecting with lightening speed. The lack of it all leaves an ache that's only slightly less than the screaming void in the back of his mind.

The only time it quiets, even a little, is when he's aiming a gun. It's the only time he really focuses. Everything just sort of falls together – the weapon, angle, weather – it all slots together in what should be a complex equation. Instead it's simple, it's reflex and instinct.

Vin turns the watch over in his hands and knows, knows with certainty like he knows time is nonlinear and space is not infinite, that if he opens it everything will change. There was a time when he might have wanted that, but nothing's the same now.

"Vin," Chris says as he comes to stand in the doorway. "You coming downstairs?"

"Yeah," Vin replies and he places the closed – but not broken, of that he's sure – watch on the dresser. He steps up to Chris, who's openly curious at Vin's intense expression, and presses his lips to Chris's in a simple promise that he's here, he's staying, and nothing is wrong. Chris wraps an arm around his waist and pulls him closer.

There's more than time enough to deal with the watch later.


	2. Discovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set years (?) before Legacy. Don't ask me. I didn't have anything more than a one-shot planned. This necessarily focuses on Nu!Who, because I haven't seen all of Classic!Who.

Vin's fingers absently picked at the new silver bars on his shoulder and he had to force himself to stop. It was his last night before deploying and most of his unit was with their families. He wrapped his fingers around his beer bottle when it was placed in front of him and wiped his thumb across the label, brushing the condensation to one side.

He wasn't nervous or scared or any of the things he should have been. He hadn't been in a long time. It was part of the reason he was on his own. You couldn't trust a man with nothing to fear. Vin dug a short nail into the corner of the label and began to pick and pull at it. It made him think of scabs and open wounds.

The drone of voices in the bar became frenzied and Vin looked up sharply. Everyone's attention was focused on the television where a news report was flashing across the screen. The gathering crowd made it impossible to hear the reporter, but the clip that followed couldn't be denied. A spaceship clipped Big Ben and crashed into the Thames. As loudly as some of the patrons yelled that it was a hoax, Vin knew better, though he couldn't say what prompted that knowledge.

He found himself holding his pocket watch, though he wasn't sure when he'd reached for it. He always had it with him, wherever he went, even if he couldn't remember why it was important.

Once upon a time, he'd made up stories about how it once belonged to his father, who got it from his father, who got it from his, and that it had traveled all over the country, that it had seen the wild west, prohibition, the Depression. That his story stretched back into history. That he was someone who came from somewhere. He knew better now.

He turned the pocket watch over in his hands like he had hundreds of times before. Keen eyes searched for any indication of its significance. He used to think it was magic, that it made him invisible. Sometimes when he'd held it in his hands and concentrated on it, people's eyes would sweep right over him as if he wasn't there at all.

He could almost hear a rhythmic tick, tick, tick that only hinted at the sound a watch should make but was part of a much larger pattern. A pattern that stretched far beyond anything he could see, beyond anything he could ever know. The Earth spun beneath his feet, spinning and turning like a carnival ride.

He staggered away from his seat, swaying as he went. He felt drunk and nauseous; his head split open to the movements of the universe and the warp and weft of time, twisting in on itself in impossible ways. It was too much for his mind to handle.

The next thing he knew he was kneeling on pavement, retching into the gutter. He barely registered the bitter taste of bile as he raised his head to stare at the stars. He'd spent his childhood mapping them and drawing his own constellations in the wide expanse that looked so small, so contained, now.

"Hey guy, you okay?" a man asked as he peered down at Vin.

"Fine," Vin murmured. He had to force the word out when his throat refused to cooperate.

"Yeah, sure." The man eyed him warily as he backed away.

Vin looked at the pocket watch still clutched in his hand. He raised his arm to throw it as far away as he could, but got no further than that. Somehow, the watch was as much him as a limb. He slipped it back into his pocket.

He wiped a weary hand down his face as he rose to his feet and was surprised when his hand came away wet with tears.


	3. Close Encounters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Possible slash? (Do aliens count?) Alien sexuality? Telepathic groping? If I compared it to an episode of Torchwood it would be very tame.

Vin's first encounter with an alien wasn't exactly what he expected. He was tracking a bounty through the backstreets of an unsavory neighborhood when he was faced with an iridescent alien. It hovered just above the ground and bathed the area around it in a soft glow. Vin could make out an almost humanoid body, but beyond that it was utterly alien; right down to the shimmering wing-like appendages sprouting from its back.

"Please," it begged, though Vin could see no evidence of speech, "help me!"

Vin could already hear the rapid tattoo of feet pounding on gravel. The alien stared at him with wide, fearful eyes and Vin had no reason to trust it but he nodded.

"What do you need?" he asked.

"Open your mind," it said quickly as it drew near. Vin had only a moment of doubt before the alien pressed its hands to his chest and pushed. Vin stumbled back a step, mostly out of reflex, because the alien had disappeared and another consciousness was swimming around his head. For a gut-wrenching moment he lost himself to fear and pain and longing that wasn't his own. He rebelled instinctively against the intrusion and the pain increased, flashing white-hot through his mind. He reigned in the instinct as best he could since the alien hadn't even made to defend itself. It had to be one of the strangest things he had ever felt; skimming the thoughts of an alien.

A man with a gun rounded the corner and Vin tensed, his own caution warring with the alien's panic. He made an aborted move to flee, then held his ground. The man paused, dark eyes glinting with cruelty. Any doubts Vin had with whether or not to trust the alien disappeared. Even if it hadn't been trustworthy, there was no way he was leaving it to this man's mercy.

"Where did it go?" the man demanded. Vin pointed vaguely down the street. The man's eyes narrowed but he moved on. As soon as he was out of sight, Vin ran. There was no way he was going to risk the man coming back to find him again. He didn't stop until he was sitting in the cab of his modified truck.

"You okay?" he asked quietly. He probably didn't need to vocalize, but it helped him to keep them separate.

"I am fine," the alien told him. "Thank you."

"Should I take you somewhere?"

"My people will come for me."

There was a sense of belonging attached to that thought so complete that Vin had to shy away from it. The fleeting sense Vin got of the people the alien came from was majestic – a peaceful civilization whose art and culture thrived, where the occasional lawbreaker was an extreme aberration.

"You can stick with me until then," Vin offered. Second-hand gratitude swept through him. Vin turned the key in the ignition and made his careful way home. It was too easy to be distracted by the alien's interest in mundane things. "You got something I can call you?"

The alien was silent a moment and Vin could almost sense it rifling through his memories. He reigned in his desire to push the alien out again, but something of his distaste must have bled through because the alien distanced itself again.

"Ford," the alien said, tone amused. Vin tried to work out where it got the name from, but nothing came immediately to mind, and he had more important things to worry about.

"Alright then, Ford," Vin said, pulling up outside his apartment block. "I've got somewhere we can hide out until your people come for you."

Vin used the fire escape instead of going through the building. It was faster and avoided people who might try to draw him into conversation. It was bad enough talking to himself, but trying to have a conversation with two people, when one of them wasn't aware of the other, would just be too awkward.

Once they were up on the roof and away from prying eyes, Ford detached from him, even if it was a little reluctantly. Almost immediately, Vin missed the feeling of knowing the stars, seeing the universe, but most especially of being a small part of a much greater whole. He leant against the exterior wall of the stairwell and slid to the ground. The alien folded itself awkwardly to sit next to him.

"Where do you come from?" Vin asked, staring up at the sky. The alien pointed to a faint star and Vin got a sense of several planets and diverse species living harmoniously.

"Arcateen V," he told Vin. He took Vin's hand in his and the contact once again strengthened the telepathic connection. Vin saw vast cities that were all light and nature; buildings and paths wove around trees, the glass-like material of the walls glittered in the sunlight, and many, many iridescent beings moved along the paths.

"Why?" Vin asked. He meant any number of things, but mostly he had to know how Ford could leave that.

"To learn."

"Tell me."

"I wished to know why Earth is so beloved of the Lord Doctor and the immortal Captain. Their legend stretches through time and space, alternately heroes and demons, together and alone, but it is always to Earth that they return. It draws them in time and time again despite the ingratitude and ignorance of its people."

Two figures were clear in Ford's mind. One changed continuously; features, clothing, height. The other remained unchanged, forever. Both stood alone, despite standing side by side. The right side of Vin's chest ached and he pressed a hand to it. For a moment he almost thought he felt a double beat. Ford peered at him and Vin glanced away, uncomfortably with how clearly Ford saw him.

"I think I understand better now," Ford continued. Vin saw himself through the alien's eyes; so young and selfless and brave. He looked away. It was difficult to match that image with how he saw himself. Ford looked up suddenly and, briefly, Vin felt part of something again – the entire race that never entirely left Ford. Ford turned to look at him again and he leaned closer.

The feather-light touch of iridescent fingertips brushed his cheeks and stroked along his jaw. Ford's mind pressed against his and somehow it was more intimate than before. The points at which Ford's skin touched his burned with desire and affection.

"I will see you again," Ford said. His tone had as much question as statement. Curiosity warred with embarrassment and there was the brush of Ford's mind against his again. He blushed when he realized it was probably the telepathic equivalent of a kiss. His blush darkened when he realized exactly how close they'd been earlier. Amusement flittered along the edge of his awareness.

Still not quite able to meet Ford's eyes, Vin concentrated on a spot a fair distance from the city where he sometimes camped out. Ford's head bobbed in an oddly human gesture and he leaned forward to press his lips to Vin's. It was lighter than he was used to, colder, but it was contact he hadn't allowed himself in a long time. He leaned into Ford and for a moment their thoughts twisted into each other until it was difficult to tell who thought or felt what. Ford stood gracefully and stepped away.

"It has been a pleasure."

"Yeah," Vin said and watched as Ford faded from sight.


	4. It's the End of the World

Vin was camping, as far away from the rest of humanity as he could get, when the world ended.

He had a sore wrist – not broken, at least not quite – and he needed a few days to rest up before he even considered taking on another skip. Even the seemingly easy ones could be surprisingly feisty when concerned.

He hadn't seen Ford, not since the night they met, so it was a surprise when he turned around to find Ford hovering in the middle of his campsite. He started to grin, but Ford's expression – what Vin could read of it – was entirely too serious for that.

"Ford?" he asked.

"Vin," Ford said. His fingers stroked along Vin's jaw and Vin let Ford's presence fill the gaping hole inside him that he could never quite ignore. "Come with me."

Vin frowned and opened eyes he hadn't even realized had closed. There was an undercurrent of fear that Ford was trying desperately to hide.

"Go with you where?"

"To Arcateen V."

Vin remembered the fleeting images of Ford's home planet that Vin had gleaned from his mind and the sense of such belonging that even the echo of it still speared longing deep in his gut. Being a part of that would be amazing, but Vin couldn't believe that was all there was to it, even if he was willing to leave everything behind.

"Why?"

"I have to show you," Ford said, fingers touching lightly, almost hesitantly, along his jaw. Vin nodded his permission. Ford drifted closer until the barest span separated them. His hands slid to cup Vin's face.

Images began to flash across Vin's mind: Harold Saxon, the British Prime Minister; the assassination of the American President; and finally the Toclafane. Vin stumbled back several steps, breaking the connection and any further images, but it was impossible to erase what he'd seen. Vin folded his arms and avoided looking at Ford with his impossibly understanding expression.

It should be absurd. The British Prime Minister taking over the world with the help of aliens should be utterly ridiculous, but Vin had seen the aftermath, had felt it, and couldn't deny that the world had been devastated. Not unless Ford was lying to him and Vin hadn't sensed anything like that, even if he believed that Ford would.

"Isn't there some way to stop him? What about the army? There must be something."

"There is nothing." Ford drifted over to him again, though he didn't reach out for Vin.

"We can't… we can't just give up," Vin said stubbornly. He'd been in the army, he still had some connections. There had to be some way to find out what sort of resistance was being formed, what kind of military response was being mobilized. Vin refused to believe there was nothing he could do, that the human race could do against Harold Saxon. This time it was Ford who backed away, a look of horror on his face.

"You cannot face him. You must not."

Vin frowned, having expected Ford to disagree with the use of violence in general, not Vin's participation.

"I can't do nothing."

"He is not human. There is nothing your weapons can do. Nothing you can do."

"Ain't much can survive a shot to the head," Vin said darkly.

"He is not human," Ford told him. "And you are not like most humans."

There was something there, the barest hint of deception, or at least ambiguity, and Vin narrowed his eyes as he stared at Ford.

"What exactly am I, then?"

"You are a marvel. Come with me and you will never want for anything. My people will treat you like a king."

"I can't."

"Anything you want. Name it, and I will find a way to give it to you," Ford begged.

Vin looked down, unable to keep eye contact with the distressed alien.

"I can't just abandon everyone to a madman. I have to try something. You get that, right?"

Ford moved forward again and slid long fingers into Vin's hair then pressed his forehead to Vin's. Ford's presence seeped into his mind, almost like an embrace and Vin allowed himself to sink into it. There was longing, regret, affection – and Vin knew that this was goodbye.

"Soon even those who wish to visit Earth will be unable," Ford said, answering the question Vin hadn't been able to speak.

"So this is the last time I'll see you, at least until this is finished."

Vin could feel Ford's automatic protest at the thought but Ford nodded. His fingers curled into Vin's hair as though he could keep them there together indefinitely, even as desperation twined through their thoughts.

"Maybe I could visit when it's over," Vin suggested, though he wasn't entirely sure he believed his own optimism. Ford's hopefulness at the thought was also shadowed with a stark understanding of the reality of the situation.

Ford reluctantly stepped back. For a moment it seemed like he was going say something, but there was nothing he could say that they hadn't already shared, and platitudes were meaningless. Once again, Ford disappeared before his eyes.

Vin turned and began to pack up his things. He had another war to fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I doubt Ford will appear again, or at least not so significantly if he does, but Chris should show up soon.


	5. The Year That Never Was

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snapshots of the year that never was with Timelord!Vin and Torchwood 4 (the missing one).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not betaed because I'm impatient. Constructive criticism welcome. Epilogue from Jack's POV to follow at some point.

Vin remembers The Year That Never Was – in his mind it takes on capitals and echoes like screams – in snapshots of terror and pain, interspersed with the briefest moments of camaraderie and something that might have been love. 

…

Two months into the end of the world and Vin’s heading down to Denver. There are times when despair weighs heavily on him and he wishes he’d gone with Ford. He survives only because of his training and the pocket watch – it doesn’t hide him exactly, but it makes people, and especially Toclafane, overlook him.

Humanity is falling fast. If not to the Toclafane and the work camps, then to disease and starvation. Most of the east coast is wasteland – the result of a failed attempt at retaliation. He hears whispers of something similar happening to Japan. 

Vin needs hope, even the barest hint of a rumour; a group of men mounting a rebellion. Vin’s learnt a lot about people in the past months, about human nature. Some of it breaks his heart, but some buoys his rather abused faith, and he needs this rumor to be true. 

He’s scrounging through the dregs of a convenience store, looking for anything that might not have spoiled yet. Generally cereal and dried fruit are mostly alright, but tinned food, a rare and valuable commodity these days, is a treasure beyond comparison. 

He’s in the back of the store when he hears the first crash of something knocked to the ground. Not long after that there’s the sound of a scuffle. There is only a moment when he considers finding a back way out and ignoring the situation, but he has not given up on humanity that much. 

He approaches slowly and draws his gun from his shoulder holster. Bullets are in short supply, too, but he’s not going to let that stop him from doing the right thing. He eases around a corner and catches his first sight of the group of men creating the commotion. They’re raiders and looters – Vin’s learnt to recognise the type – surrounding a single man backed into a corner of the store, protecting what few supplies he’s managed to gather.

It doesn’t look like they have anything more sophisticated than knives, bats and crude planks of wood, which might mean he can actually intimidate them into leaving. He raises his gun steadily and steps out into the open.

“Reckon it’s time for you all to be leaving now,” he says evenly. Most of the men turn, but some still remain focused on their victim, and especially the food. 

“Don’t you know,” one of the men tells him, “it’s the end of the world. There aren’t any heroes left.”

“Maybe there’s one. Or maybe that’s the first food I’ve seen in days and I’m willing to kill as many of you as I have to, to get at it.”

Some of the men waver. They don’t like this new world filled with mad men and desperation, but they aren’t willing to die either. Their leader isn’t so cautious.

“There’s more of us than you.”

“True, but I reckon I can shoot at least four of you before you bring me down, and he,” Vin gestured vaguely at the guarding his supplies, “has a knife. I imagine he’d be willing to go after the rest of you on the off chance that I’ll side with him.”

The other man seemed to straighten his shoulders at that, Vin’s appearance and reaction bolstering him.

“I figure it’s better to try my luck against one man than many,” he says. Vin smirks.

It doesn’t take long for the men to clear out, even if they’re practically dragging their leader, and Vin and the other man are appraising each other. 

“I’m Nathan,” he says, sliding his knife into a sheath concealed against his wrist. He holds out his hand. Vin hesitates a moment before holstering his gun and shaking Nathan’s hand. “You know,” Nathan starts, “there’s a group of us holed up east of here. We could always use another capable body.”

If nothing else, Vin decides, someone associated with Nathan’s group might be able to point him in the right direction. At best, they might be exactly what he’s looking for. He nods briefly and moves to help Nathan carry the supplies out to his truck.

…

Vin isn’t sure what he expects from “there’s a group of us holed up”, but this certainly isn’t it. They drive a little way out of town, to what looks like a mostly abandoned ranch, and into a barn. Vin is surprised that it survived the initial Toclafane attack, but maybe it’s something they found later, or maybe they stumbled on some way to protect themselves. 

It’s not until Nathan opens a trapdoor in the floor and a set of stainless steel stairs lead to a perfectly white corridor and gleaming elevator that Vin suspects not all is as it seems. Nathan catches his hesitation and smiles encouragingly. 

“Wait until you see the rest.”

Vin’s not sure what might await him if he follows Nathan into the elevator, but he knows what’s out there. He steps forward and Nathan claps him warmly on the shoulder before pressing a sequence of buttons Vin can’t quite catch. 

They stand in silence while the elevator descends. It’s a short trip; over before the silence can become uncomfortable. Nathan steps out and, after a moment to steel himself, Vin follows. He steps up to a railing that overlooks a large, open area, filled with people and the detritus of human living; cots and mattresses, piles of clothing, a few scattered toys.

“Looks like fresh meat,” a tall, mustached man jokes. 

“Leave the poor boy alone. He must be exhausted,” an older woman scolds. 

“Welcome to Torchwood 4,” Nathan says with a flourish, cutting off any other remarks the residents might make, but Vin can’t spare a glance for what must be an impressive facility. His gaze is caught by the hazel-green eyes of a man dressed all in black.

…

Five months into the end of the world and Vin and Chris are passing a bottle of whiskey between them. He sits shoulder to shoulder with the other man, the warmth of the computer core doing nothing to ease the chill in his bones. It’s the only private place left in the facility, and Chris can’t afford to let them see him mourn, not when they need him strong. 

Nathan and Buck are dead. JD barely got back with the supplies they’d gone scavenging for, a small child clutching at his pants leg. It doesn’t seem worth it. The supplies are gone all too quickly and the child dies of a fever they weren’t able to cure. 

Nathan would have been able to.

“It’s all gone to hell and there’s nothing we can do about it,” Chris says. Vin doesn’t respond. There’s nothing he can say. He rests a hand on Chris’s thigh and squeezes. Chris takes rests his hand over Vin’s and they sit in silence for a long moment. 

“I don’t know what I’d do,” Chris starts, but trails off before he can finish. He turns to Vin and waits until Vin turns to look at him as well. A strong, calloused hand curls around the nape of his neck and tangles in his hair. The other entwines his fingers and tugs at his hand to pull him closer. Chris’s breath smells strongly of alcohol for the brief moment before his lips press firmly to Vin’s. 

…

Vin wonders if Chris will regret this in the morning, if he’ll even remember it, but for now it’s enough to take this comfort. There’s little enough of it to go around at the moment, anyway. 

He stays awake, all night, because he doesn’t want to miss a moment of it. There’s no telling how long he’ll have to use the memory to get him through the worst of life after Saxon and he and Chris have never really discussed what might be happening between them. Things are so uncertain anyway, that even if they grab it with both hands there’s no telling how long they’ll survive, how long they’ll be able to keep it.

When the lights begin to brighten, the only indication of any sort of day/night cycle they get underground, Vin tries to disentangle himself from Chris. He has duties he needs to get to, weapons he needs to make sure are battle ready. Chris’s arm tightens around him and pulls him back against him. 

“Where you going?” Chris murmurs without opening his eyes. 

“I’ve got things to do,” Vin tells him quietly, knowing that the hangover will be well in effect.

“Dinner?” Chris asks.

“Dinner?”

“You ‘n me,” Chris says and he squints his eyes open enough to kiss Vin softly on the mouth before releasing him. 

“I’ll bring you some coffee,” Vin offers, but Chris is already back asleep. He smiles fondly down at the man and makes a note to check in on him before lunch anyway.

…

Seven months into the end of the world and they’ve since lost Josiah, and Nettie too, but it’s experienced through a half-numb haze, like everything else. There’s been too much loss, too much pain, too much struggle, and it’s unremitting. There’s only so much they can take. 

It’s early morning and they’re in bed, but neither man is asleep. Chris is curled around him, arm wrapped around his middle. Vin is staring at the small, gold pocket watch on the dresser, wondering if he should tell Chris.

“There’s something wrong with me,” he blurts out and it’s the first time he’s ever really admitted it. 

“It’s okay,” Chris murmurs into the back of his neck and presses a kiss to the bare skin of his shoulder. “We’ll figure it out.”

“You knew?” Vin asks, and he tries to turn to look at Chris, but Chris holds him close and he can’t.

“You know things you probably shouldn’t, you sometimes have insight into people that borders on psychic,” Chris tells him plainly. Tension coils in his muscles, and he wants to jump out of bed, wants to confront Chris about it, deny it, but he can’t. “And sometimes, when we lie just like this,” Chris says, and he presses firmly against Vin’s back, his hand moving to the centre of Vin’s chest. “I think I can feel two hearts beating.”

“Oh.”

“We’ll figure it out,” he repeats. The unknown of it gnaws at Vin’s mind and he lets Chris distract him because there’s nothing else he can do.

…

Ten months into the end of the world and Vin meets the woman who might be able to save it. Her name is Martha and she’s traveled the world on a mission. 

They smuggle her into the barn in the dead of night and down the elevator. She treats the ill that she can, food becomes more limited every day and getting enough clean water, even in their facility, is a nightmare. They only have power because Orin Travis, the only surviving member of the original Torchwood 4, hooked up some alien tech. Still, it’s better than the work camps where everyone is worked until they can’t work anymore and Saxon doesn’t care how many die.

When she has a moment, Martha sits with them and tells them a story. It’s a marvelous story, filled with hope and courage, and Vin wants to believe it, but it’s the end of the world and no one believes anything anymore.

She can’t stay for long, a few weeks at the most. Long enough to tell her story, treat those she can, and resupply with what she can for the next leg of her journey. She’s going on to Florida and then catching a boat back to England. She tells them it’s almost over, just a few more months, but that seems like lifetimes to Vin. 

It’s not long into her stay when she sees his pocket watch. She pales at the sight of it and stumbles back from him.

“What is it?” he asks. He’s tired of not knowing, of being afraid of what he is. Ford seemed in awe, but it’s never seemed anything but painful and horrifying to Vin.

“Nothing,” she says too quickly, “its nothing.”

“What is this?” he asks, holding up the watch. “What am I?”

“It’s just a broken watch.” She won’t say anything more and he can’t push her because there are too many other things to focus on and Chris does seem to think she has a chance, though they’re both sure that her plan has nothing to do with the parts of a gun scattered across the world. Still, she’s wary of him now. She keeps him in sight and she never relaxes if he’s in the room.

Vin wonders if he’s as broken as the watch.

JD dies two weeks later. An infection they didn’t have the medicine to fight off even with Martha’s medical expertise. It’s just Vin and Chris and Ezra now. He doesn’t know how they’ll survive. Their small pocket of humanity has dwindled to just them and Inez and a handful of others, and even Inez is sick now too.

…

Eleven months into the end of the world and Vin meets the man responsible for it all. They’ve arranged for Martha to take a ship back to England, if she can get to Miami – she assures them that she can, that she’ll be safe – when they’re attacked. Chris falls almost immediately, taking a shot meant for him. The facility falls fast. Vin can only assume that someone betrayed them in the hopes of being spared. It’s enough for Martha to get away. 

If that isn’t enough, Vin isn’t sure he cares anymore.

He’s crouched beside Chris, Chris’s head in his lap, when they find him. He doesn’t bother to struggle. There’s nothing left to struggle for. He expects the Toclafane to end him as quickly as they did everyone else, but it seems Saxon came in person for the destruction of Torchwood 4. Vin refuses to call him Master, even in his own head.

He’s pulled to his feet by ex-UNIT soldiers. Vin sneers at them and his anger fuels a flurry of hits that knock several down and break more than one bone before he’s subdued. It’s not enough to avenge what’s happened to his brothers, to Chris. It’ll never be enough.   
Saxon grabs his chin and forces Vin to meet his eyes. There’s the feeling of fingertips sliding along the inside of his skull and he flinches away.

“Oh, but aren’t you interesting,” Saxon says. The need for answers is an ache he can’t sooth, but he refuses to give in to this man, to submit in any way. He wouldn’t be able to trust the answers anyway.

“I’m going to keep you all to myself,” Saxon says, gently brushing a strand of hair out of his eyes. Vin shudders. “At least until New Gallifrey has risen.”

…

“Now you stay nice and safe down here,” Saxon tells him, “away from all those nasty humans, while I sort out somewhere more permanent for you.” He pats Vin on the head and Vin tries to bite at his hand but is too slow and too far away. “There, there,” Saxon says patronizingly, “be a good tot. It’s only the first day and I’d hate to have to punish you.” Saxon glances in the chained man’s direction. “The Freak knows what happens to bad little boys, doesn’t he.”

The chained man glares at Saxon, but doesn’t reply. Vin feels a sense of kinship with him already. Saxon turns and strides down the passage without looking back. The screaming chasm in the back of his head, that he tries so hard not to think about, has eased since he’s come aboard the Valiant, which is strange, because he doesn’t think he’s ever been in more danger.

“Name’s Jack,” the grubby man says when Saxon is well out of sight. There are rends in his dirty white t-shirt, and dark stains that must be blood, edging them, but the man seems uninjured. “Captain Jack Harkness,” he adds with a shadow of smile. There’s something comforting about the Captain’s presence. He’s solid and real – more real than anything else – and Vin simply sits back, watching him.

“Vin,” he says in return.

“So what’s a guy like you doing in a place like this?” Jack asks. It doesn’t look like Jack’s had much in the way of company for a while, other than Saxon, and Vin doesn’t know if he’ll survive this, and he doesn’t want his brothers to be forgotten.

“I met an alien from Arcateen V,” Vin tells him. “He called himself Ford.”

...

Twelve months into the end of the world and Vin hasn’t seen anyone but Saxon for weeks. He treats Vin like a pet, patting him on the head and rewarding him when Saxon thinks he’s done well. 

Vin dreads his visits, which thankfully grow less frequent as his deadline for universal domination looms, because every time Saxon comes to see him, he slips into his mind with the feeling of fingers sinking into his brain. It’s not like Ford, not at all. It’s an invasion, a violation. Saxon leaves a residue, like the double tap of a dual heartbeat that underscores all of Vin’s thoughts these days and the yawning abyss of madness that festers at the edge of his mind until he’s terrified to sleep.

Saxon’s taken the pocket watch. Vin doesn’t know where he keeps it. And that, Vin thinks, worries him more than anything else.

He wonders about Martha and Jack, but Jack he can feel, even separated as they are. Jack is like a rock in a stream, he remains unmoved, untouched, and Vin desperately holds onto that feeling while Saxon slithers around his mind. Sometimes, he thinks it’s the only thing that keeps him sane. 

…

When it’s all over, Vin is eventually let out of his cell by one of the soldiers. Apparently Saxon is dead, none of it happened, and the soldiers have decided not to be traitors, even if it did and they are. 

So, twelve months into the end of the world and the day it began all at once, Vin contemplates finding Jack, if he survived. The soldiers say Jack’s fine, but Vin knows no one is. Apparently, the Doctor saved the world and took Jack and Martha with him and Vin’s glad to hear she survived too, that she succeeded in the mission Chris gave his life for, even if he didn’t.

He can’t find the pocket watch.

“Sir,” one of the soldiers begins a little hesitantly. He looks barely out of his teens. “We need to debrief you. We can do it here or down on land, if you prefer. No one’s really wanted to stay here longer than necessary.” He gets a far-off look in his eyes.

Vin nods. It’s chaotic enough that he can slip away from them. He’s had enough of this whole thing and he just wants to forget, wants it not to have happened, wants to have not been on this damn ship so that he has to be one of the ones who remembers. 

“Good,” the soldier says. “I mean, not good, but just… this way, sir.”

Vin wonders if he was one of the soldiers there when Chris died. He follows anyway.

…

Vin remembers The Year That Never Was – in his mind it takes on capitals and echoes like screams – in snapshots of terror and pain, interspersed with the briefest moments of camaraderie and something that might have been love. 

But, like a particularly vivid nightmare he can’t quite shake, it never really happened. Saxon is dead. Chris is alive. Chris is probably scowling and drinking too much and investigating aliens with his brothers-in-arms. Chris, who never kissed him, never made love to him, never even met him, and Vin can’t forget.


End file.
